


genesis

by theonelascivious



Series: suspirium [1]
Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Secret Relationship, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:27:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29590692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonelascivious/pseuds/theonelascivious
Summary: A three-part saga exploring the beginning of Cardinal Copia’s evolving relationship with Papa Emeritus the Third.
Relationships: Cardinal Copia/Papa Emeritus III
Series: suspirium [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2173950
Comments: 22
Kudos: 29





	1. desidero

**Author's Note:**

> Partially serving as an introduction to my own headcanon - and the first part of a greater series - this particular installment, coming from Copia’s point of view, takes place during (or shortly after) the height of the Third's reign, before we ever knew the Cardinal, when he was perhaps a bit more timid...

The first time, it happened during the small hours of the night, after a Ritual. 

Cardinal Copia wandered aimlessly through the Church corridors in search of his apartment, wine-drunk. He walked with the confidence of a man wading through water with his uneven footsteps and clumsy strides, but in his defense, it was late, and although the Ritual had ended several hours ago, the riotous festivities that followed had only just begun to fizzle out. When the Cardinal left the dining hall, only the Ghouls were still running about, shouting at or chasing one another. 

The Cardinal had been present for most of the night’s most notable events, but the one that stuck out in his mind - even now, on his drunken journey to his bed - had taken place in the ballroom during the height of the chaos. From his table in the corner, he had drunk his wine and watched as one of the Ghouls - he couldn’t tell who - lifted the skirt of one of the Sisters of Sin before taking her from behind in front of an enthusiastic crowd. While it was not an unexpected thing to happen in the wake of a Ritual, the Cardinal still found himself looking on. 

As they carried on, the Cardinal had scanned the ballroom, looking for persons of interest, when his eyes landed on Papa Emeritus the Third, who was seated in a gilded chair high up on the mezzanine, Ghouls flanking either side of him. Looking closely, the Cardinal could see that the Third’s expression was drawn tight, and he appeared transfixed, holding his chalice at pursed lips that slowly gave way to a lascivious grin as he watched the scene on the ballroom floor below. 

The Cardinal had been mesmerized by the way the Third looked in that moment, feeling his chest grow tight when he saw him grin like _that_ , and he suddenly stopped caring about the Ghoul and the Sister, instead refocusing his attention on him. That glazed-over look remained on the Third’s face for a few more moments before he slowly rose from the chair and leaned over to say something in the ear of one of the Ghouls, gesturing indiscriminately at the crowd below as he did. Seconds later, he left the ballroom, sweeping through the mezzanine door with the Ghouls in tow, and the Cardinal did not see him again for the rest of the evening. 

Now, as he stumbled through a series of dark corridors in his feeble attempt at getting back to his apartment, he could swear he still heard the Sister’s moans echoing against the high ceiling of the ballroom. He gave a rapid, violent shake of the head, forcing himself to stop imagining it, but as he rounded a corner and turned down another corridor, he realized it was not his imagination as the moaning sounded again, louder this time, and before he could stop himself his feet were taking him toward the source of the noise, driven blindly forward by an intense curiosity that was made unquenchable by untamed perversion.

He wound up in front of a set of wide oak doors, each of which was adorned with a brass knocker that resembled a three-headed dog - and as soon as the Cardinal recognized the Cerberus, he took two quick steps backward, fear washing over him with the realization of where he was. 

It was the Third’s study. 

The Cardinal swallowed, looked up and down the corridor, and when he saw there was no one nearby, he threw caution to the wind to let curiosity take over and he pressed his ear against the doorjamb, holding his breath so he could listen closely, and he heard someone’s voice call: “Oh, _yes_ , Papa!”

Stepping back again, the Cardinal exhaled, feeling his face grow red, and he straightened his cassock in a worthless attempt at collecting himself. He was staring at the door, listening to the muffled sounds coming through it, his mind running rampant with possibilities, when he suddenly realized that the Third had no Ghouls standing guard outside. 

He willed himself to walk away, to continue making his way to his apartment, but his feet felt stuck to the floor. Remembering that glazed look he’d seen on the Third’s face in the ballroom, he became seized by the need to know what was going on inside the study. He looked up and down the corridor again and, feeling certain there was no one around, he pressed his ear against the door. 

He listened.

A cacophony of sounds bounced around the room, making it difficult for him to isolate much of anything said, but still he had no trouble immersing himself in daydream, picturing the Third using one hand to grip someone’s hip as he took them from behind, the other hand wrapped around someone else as their lips crashed together with fervor. It was almost too much, and the Cardinal felt himself becoming hard fast at the simple thought of the Third fucking anybody at all. He imagined him as rough, reckless, caring only about his own pleasure. He’d heard whisperings of how he kept himself busy in his spare time; he had seen many a Sibling sneak away from his chambers in the middle of the night or early in the morning, and so, from time to time, the Cardinal caught himself wondering about the Third - about what he was _like_.

He was now half-listening, half-daydreaming, absentmindedly rubbing himself as a series of images went through his mind, and it was only when he heard the Third’s sharp voice that he was stunned out of his reverie: _“Get on your knees, dear."_

Ripping himself away from the door again, the Cardinal felt a wave of nausea consume him as he realized exactly what he was doing. Wrestling with the feeling that he had just crossed a line, he burned with shame when he looked down and saw the dark spot on the leg of his trousers, and he turned on his heel to get away from the Third’s study as fast as he could. _Fuck._

When he finally made it back to his apartment, he burst through the door, let it swing shut behind him, and fell against it before sinking to the floor. Only now did he let the embarrassment consume him, and he cradled his head in his hands, cursing himself for the lapse in judgment, the indulgence in _those_ thoughts of the Third. To blur the lines of the hierarchy he worked so hard to uphold would threaten his undoing as a Clergyman and likely put an end to life as he knew it. Defeated, he moved slowly to his bed, crawling into it and allowing sleep to take him away with the parting thought: _I must not give in to this again._

But sleep was fleeting, and the following day arrived in full force. The day after a Ritual was typically quiet, but the sounds of a group of Ghouls clamoring out in the gardens outside his apartment roused the Cardinal from his slumber. Heaving a great sigh, he sat upright and swung his legs over the side of the bed, standing with some difficulty, his body stiff. He groaned, stretched, and pressed the palms of his hands against his temples, wishing he was still drunk rather than hungover. He needed to eat. 

The dining hall was quiet and nearly empty when he arrived, but several serving Siblings were bringing steaming platters out from the kitchens and arranging them on the buffet table, preparing for the impending onslaught of hungry mouths. The Cardinal pulled an assortment of breakfast foods onto a plate with half-lidded eyes before making his way to the banquet table, where he took his place: the seat to the right of the Third, the sight of whose empty chair triggered a wave of thoughts that he could only suppress by wolfing down his bacon. 

He was preparing to start on his eggs when a sudden heavy _thump_ sounded to his right, and he glanced over to see Dewdrop holding a metal goblet and staring at him intently from the chair directly next to his. Dewdrop downed the entire contents of the goblet in seconds, then fixed his gaze back on the Cardinal and said, “Did not think I would see you in the dining hall so early in the day, Cardinal.” 

The Cardinal sighed, stirring his eggs together absentmindedly. “I could not sleep,” he said to his plate. “It was a long night.” 

“Indeed it was. I was assigned to Papa’s guard last night. It was a tiresome shift.” 

“Oh?” the Cardinal said, almost too quickly, and he hated the way his tone gave away his interest, hoped that Dewdrop wouldn’t notice - but at the same time, he was mentally zeroing in on the fact that Dewdrop had been inside the Third’s study when the Cardinal had passed by last night - when he’d pressed his ear against the door - and he felt his chest rise and fall with a deep breath as his mind was set ablaze with the possibility that the Ghoul might let something slip. 

“It was nearly seven o’clock this morning when Papa finally relieved me,” Dewdrop went on with a knowing smile that plucked at the strings of the Cardinal’s interest. “You should have seen the look on Aether’s face when he arrived to take over.” 

“Why do you say that?” 

“Because: there was Papa, asleep on that massive chaise with two Siblings draped across him. Aether opened the door, took one quick look around the room, and said, “Oh, he’s been _busy_. This is some Michaelangelo shit.” He laughed. 

“Two Siblings!” The Cardinal swallowed, wishing again that he had not spoken, but he just looked at Dewdrop and waited for his response. 

“I know. It’s not like Aether’s never seen him like that before.” 

The Cardinal paused as he felt the flush rising in his cheeks. He chose his words carefully. “I’m surprised he didn’t invite you to join,” he said, forcing a casual tone.

Dewdrop chuckled again. “Alas, there is no way I could keep up with Papa. The man’s stamina is something to behold.” He paused, then said: “He asked me and Cumulus to come inside and watch - so we did.” 

The Cardinal had been staring straight ahead while Dewdrop spoke, unable to stop himself from picturing all of it. _A threesome, and he asked for an audience._ The look he’d seen on the Third’s face in the ballroom took on a different meaning now, and then, before he could stop himself he was imagining his dark hair framing the sharp lines of his face, brushing back and forth across his cheekbones as he -- 

“Are you all right, Cardinal? You’ve hardly touched your eggs.”

Stunned out of his trance, the Cardinal rose from the table with a start, muttering, “My apologies, Dewdrop. I must go. I am not feeling quite as well as I thought I was.” He covered his mouth as if he was about to be sick, and he ignored Dewdrop’s protests about the wasted food on the table as he hurried out of the dining hall. 

He raced back to his apartment, desperately seeking the sanctuary of privacy so that he could satisfy the need that had suddenly overcome him, the need that consumed every bit of him, the need against which he could no longer put up a fight. He lost all control almost as soon as he made it through the door, pushing his trousers down to his knees so he could give in; he pictured the hard lines of the Third’s body, small but taut and poised with a graceful confidence that emanated from him in a big, consuming way, a thing that was impossible to even dream of finding elsewhere.

The Cardinal wasted no time. The world around him ceased to exist as he became enraptured, and he came with a high moan and a full-body shudder, spilling his seed on the floor in his haste, and as he was left to stare at the evidence of his actions, regret overtook him, and he could not stop the word from escaping from his mouth: _“Fuck!"_


	2. voluptas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's getting saucy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many thanks for your lovely notes. please enjoy this second (of three) parts. <3

The second time, it happened after Mass. 

Dressed in his ceremonial reds, the Cardinal sat in the chapel and waited for the service to begin. He was alone but for a small group of Siblings that darted about, lighting candles along the walls in preparation for the incoming congregation. He was early, even by his standards, but he had found that arriving at the chapel well before Mass was the best way to avoid the Third. 

Sometime during the weeks that had passed since the Ritual, the Cardinal had developed a sturdy resolve to keep his distance from the Third - which wasn’t hard, being that he notoriously tried to exclude him from most Clerical matters anyway. But it turned into doing everything he could to avoid even catching a glimpse of him, anything to keep himself from feeding the fantasy that he struggled to keep locked deep within the confines of his overactive imagination. 

He wrestled with temptation. Once, while walking by the dining hall on an evening he’d chosen to skip supper, he heard the Third scream at a serving Sibling for failing to bring wine with his meal. The rage dripping from his voice seized the Cardinal, slowing him down enough to listen a little longer as he passed. It kindled a burning sensation in his chest, one that threatened to spread throughout his entire body before he realized he was allowing himself to feel it, and he forced it away just as quickly as it had come on.

Another time - just last week - he had run into the Third in a particularly narrow corridor on his way to the sacristy the day before Mass, and their paths drew so closely together that the two men brushed shoulders - just barely - as they passed one another. “Watch your step, Cardinal,” the Third had snapped at him over his shoulder with a snarl on his lips while the Cardinal profusely apologized through the wave of nausea that struck him at the feeling of that modicum of contact, that morsel of touch that was almost too much for him to bear. It had lingered in the back of his mind every day since then. 

Glancing around the chapel now, the Cardinal saw that Cumulus had arrived to take her seat at the organ, and the Siblings had taken their posts around the chapel. He began waiting for the others to arrive. _Any minute now._ His eyes darted to the Clergy door, from which the Third would emerge when the service began, and he felt a pit of nervousness and excitement plunge into his stomach. He wondered what topic he’d chosen for the sermon; he famously withheld this from the remainder of the Clergy each week, much to Papa Nihil’s chagrin, but the Cardinal secretly enjoyed the way it bred a sense of anticipation, belying the Third’s love for creating suspense. 

As total darkness came upon the chapel, Cumulus played the opening notes while the congregation slowly filed in and took their seats in the pews. The Cardinal leapt up to help Sister Imperator lower Nihil into the pew when they arrived; as he sat back down, he saw that several Ghouls had seated themselves to his right, so sudden it was as if they had appeared out of thin air. He felt himself take a deep breath as his eyes darted back over to the Clergy door, waiting anxiously for the first glimpse of the Third and finding it increasingly difficult not to drown out the aimless chatter that filled the room’s empty spaces. 

Then the last lingering note of the organ sounded as beams of purple light descended upon the congregation and the Third appeared, gloved hands outstretched in a welcoming gesture as he approached the pulpit. In full regalia, the mitre atop his head, the pallium draped around his neck, the mozzetta brushing against the floor, the Cardinal could not help but stare. He was a breathtaking sight. Already he was slipping, spellbound as he watched the Third’s every move. 

“Siblings of Sin!” the Third declared in his bright, silky voice. “Children of _Satanas_! Welcome, and thank you all for joining me on this night of communal malfeasance.” He paused, bringing his hands inward to latch onto either side of the pulpit. He gazed across the sea of faces before him, taking stock of his followers, then continued: “Tonight, I wish to address you all on the sin of _lust_.” 

Instantly, before he could even try to suppress it, that sharp feeling rose in the Cardinal’s chest and took hold of him, and he was brought back to that morning after the last Ritual, to hurrying to his apartment from the dining hall, to rushing to remove his trousers… His face burned, and he gripped the edge of the pew, trying with all his might to keep his eyes trained forward toward the altar. _Fuck_.

The Third continued: “Lust has a beautiful way of coiling tightly around you, ensnaring you within the throes of your darkest desires.” His voice moved like liquid throughout the chapel, bouncing off the walls to reverberate against the high vaulted ceilings. “It also has a way of instilling shame - but the simple indulgence in your sexual desires is nothing of which you should be ashamed. Bear in mind, Children, that you should act on desire with pride, whether it happens with a partner who wishes to partake with you - or alone.” 

_Alone._ The Cardinal was clenching his teeth now, moving his hands to his lap as he felt the first swell of arousal. With that last line, it felt as if the Third was inside his mind. 

“Yielding to your urges is beneficial for the soul! Yes: feed the hunger that lies within you, and relish in the blissful feelings of satisfaction and release it brings you.” The Third paused again, and this time he found the Cardinal’s eyes. The Cardinal swallowed. The Third’s gaze felt purposeful, his eyes full of intent, and he knew better than to try to look away, though he wanted nothing more than to stare at the ceiling - or better, to escape the chapel entirely. He could only hope that his hands, clasped together in his lap, concealed how hard he was. 

Throughout the remainder of the sermon, the Cardinal alternated between squirming and crossing and uncrossing his legs. He was now only listening to the Third to hear the sound of his voice, relishing in its smooth tone and the way it ebbed and flowed with the dynamics of the words he spoke - and then he was imagining how that voice might change behind closed doors, if it got lower, more gravelly, if it spoke demands, if it cried out with pleasure when he -- 

“And now, Children,” came the Third’s shrill voice, cracking straight through the Cardinal’s reverie, “join me now in accepting the Body and Blood of _Satanas_.” 

Horrified, the Cardinal looked around as everyone rose at once, and he stood in haste, helped Sister Imperator with Nihil, then quickly returned his hands to his front when he _felt_ how necessary it was to hide his arousal. _Fuck, no, not now,_ he pleaded with himself, hating that the Clergy were the first to approach the altar and that he was only third in line behind Nihil and Sister Imperator. He could only pray that it would be less noticeable by the time he had to stand in front of the Third. 

He moved toward the altar at a crawl, thankful for Nihil’s slow shuffle forward. He watched Imperator help him sip the wine from the chalice before she accepted her own. It felt as though only a second had passed before she began guiding Nihil back to the pews and the Cardinal stepped forward to stand in front of the Third, dreading the moment he would need to use his hands. 

“Hello, Cardinal,” the Third greeted softly, regarding him with a mild grin. The Cardinal could not find his voice, could not tear his eyes away from him: he drank in his beauty, his regality, the feeling of raw power that emanated from him like an intoxicating scent. Kneeling, he tried to avoid the Third’s eyes for as long as possible as he opened his mouth. 

“His Body,” the Third said as he placed the wafer on the Cardinal’s tongue, and it was then that he let his eyes flit upward to meet the Third’s for a moment before he chewed and swallowed. He stood, then reached forward with both hands to accept the chalice from the outstretched hands of the Sister who stood alongside the Third. 

“His Blood,” the Third intoned in what was almost a whisper, and the Cardinal closed his eyes, tilted his head backward, and sipped the wine. He savored in its taste - dry and only a little fruity - as he swished it around in his mouth before swallowing it. When he opened his eyes, he looked at the Third, whose expression had changed to something indiscernible, something captivated, as if someone had just told him a secret. They stood there for a moment, looking at one another, and the Cardinal saw that the Third’s eyes held something he had never before seen in him. It was only when the Third gave him a dismissive nod that he finally turned around to walk back to the pews. 

He floated through the remainder of Mass, wondering about the look on the Third’s face. It consumed him, and throughout the entire walk to the dining hall after the service ended, he began to acknowledge a growing feeling that _he had seen that face before_ \- he had seen those half-lidded, glazed-over eyes - and it was only as he took his seat at the buffet table that he realized it was the exact look he had on his face that night in the ballroom after the Ritual, when the Cardinal noticed him watching the Ghoul and the Sister… 

It was a face of _lust_.

And then the Third took his seat at the buffet table, immediately to his left. Disquieted, he could not turn to acknowledge him or even say hello; instead, he stared ahead, watching as members of the congregation sat down at the tables, chatting noisily. _It can’t be,_ he thought, the disbelief coming in to lock the glimmer of hope away. _No. Perhaps he was taken by some other thought._

When the serving Siblings laid his dinner plate in front of him and filled his chalice with wine, he could only stare at his skirt steak and twirl his fork absentmindedly. His stomach was knotted. Opting not to eat, he sunk back in his chair, sipping his wine and listening to the ongoing conversations around him: to his right, Aether was telling Dewdrop a gossip-ridden story about some other Ghouls; to his left, somewhat distantly, he could hear Nihil and Sister Imperator arguing about how thoroughly one should chew food.

The Third was uncharacteristically quiet.

Curiosity drove the Cardinal to steal a quick glance at him. The Third had cleaned his plate, and he was reaching to pick up a nearly empty chalice. His eyes darted back down to his own plate, and he pushed a few pieces of food around as he continued listening in on Aether and Dewdrop’s conversation. 

Then he felt a hand touch his left leg. 

His heart nearly stopped. He did not need to look to see that the hand belonged to the Third, whom he sensed was now leaning slightly toward him. 

“Sacristy. Ten minutes.” It came as a whisper, and then he rose from his chair, bid Nihil a good evening, and left.

The Cardinal stared straight ahead, fighting nausea, wondering if this was real life or fantasy. _Sacristy. Ten minutes._ He swallowed hard when he realized that the Third’s manner had been discreet, and he began telling himself not to panic. _Is this how he does it?_ he wondered, then: _No. I can’t humor him. If we were to be caught…_

And yet, ten minutes later, he found himself standing in front of the door to the sacristy, his heart thudding in his ears as he pictured the Third waiting for him inside. He reached for the handle, then withdrew his hand, letting fear give him pause. _What if this is a cruel joke? What would have even prompted this?_ He stood rooted to the spot, staring blankly ahead while wrestling with doubt for what seemed like an hour before he finally pulled the door open and walked inside. 

The Third was perched on the edge of the little wood table that stood in the center of the room, his legs hanging off the surface and swinging back and forth like a child with too much energy. The room was dim, illuminated only by a couple of candles on one of the walls. He looked over at the Cardinal as he walked in and hopped onto the floor, and the Cardinal could just barely make out the grin on his face as his eyes began adjusting to the darkness. 

“I knew you would come,” the Third said, standing in front of him. 

The Cardinal realized with a sudden rush that he had never stood this close to him before, not even earlier that evening at the altar. The Third had a magnetism that he had fallen victim to before, but the pull felt even stronger now, and he had no will to push. He was wholly entranced by him, and the only thing he could manage was: “How?”

Wordlessly, the Third moved closer to him, taking one of his hands in his and guiding it to lie flat against his stomach. The Cardinal felt his eyes widen in disbelief as he glanced down to watch, and when he looked back up, the question on his lips dissolved as soon as he saw that carnal expression come over his features again, and he felt more powerless now than ever before. 

“I saw how hard you were, at the altar,” the Third said quietly, and the Cardinal cursed himself as he thought back to how he had accepted the chalice with _both hands_ , how he had closed his eyes and tilted his head back and inadvertently given himself away. 

He glanced back down and watched as the Third moved his hand lower, then lower still, until he was cupping the bulge in his trousers, and the Cardinal let out a soft gasp. “I knew it was for me,” the Third intoned in a low voice, gazing at him with eyes full of lust - full of _need_ \- and then the Third pushed the Cardinal’s palm against himself, leaning in to whisper into his ear, “ _Feel me_.” 

The Cardinal wasted no time doing what he was told, breathing heavily, relishing in the persistent throb he felt. He traced an outline, taking in his size, and when he looked up at the Third to see a smug smile on his face, he nearly came undone. It was almost too much; he could hardly bring himself to believe that this was really happening, this thing he’d thought about hundreds of times in the span of just a few weeks, but the feeling below his waist convinced him that it was, in fact, very real. 

“Your Dark - ” the Cardinal started, but the Third cupped his cheek and put a thumb over his mouth, silencing him. 

“ _Terzo_ ,” he corrected, and the Cardinal could not fight the overwhelming feeling that he’d just been let in on a secret. _A nickname._

“Terzo,” the Cardinal repeated softly, and then the Third’s lips closed in on his own in a frenzied rush, and he was blindsided - he had not even expected it - but he opened his mouth to accept his tongue, the whole while continuing to rub the Third’s arousal and fighting the urge to grind his own against his hip. It was absolute bliss, and right away, just from this, the Cardinal knew that he would not be able to get enough, ever; that this could be the start of something dangerous, but still he succumbed to it, throwing caution to the wind, preferring instead to savor the way he tasted and the feeling of his hands on him - and then, suddenly, the Third pulled away. 

“Get on your knees.” 

It came out as a low murmur, an animalistic sound, almost a growl, and the Cardinal dropped to the floor instantly, watching as the Third fumbled with the clasp of his trousers with impatient frustration. He reached for his waist and began tugging them off himself, finding that he could not control the urge, and as soon as he freed the Third’s arousal he wrapped his lips around it, wasting no time taking almost his full length into his mouth. The Third let out a deep groan, and the Cardinal could not resist plunging one of his own hands into his trousers to touch himself as well. 

It lasted almost no time: before long, the Third had a handful of the Cardinal’s hair in his fist, holding his head in place while he thrust shamelessly in and out of his mouth; the Cardinal had shoved his trousers to his knees and was now pumping himself furiously, the need to come taking over and pushing closer to the surface each time he nearly choked on the Third’s dick. 

“ _Copia_ \-- ” the Third grunted suddenly, his voice sharp, as though he’d just been caught by surprise, and the Cardinal felt him shudder violently as he spilled into his mouth with a moan that came from deep within his chest. The Cardinal swallowed as he pulled away, then finished into his hand with haste. He looked up at the Third, who was breathing heavily, then he slowly stood and made his way to the sink in the corner of the sacristy, tugging his trousers back up to his waist as he moved. 

He turned on the water and began washing his hands, waiting for the Third to say something and becoming worried that he wouldn’t. He watched the water coat his hands and run off of his fingers, and the sensation brought him back to reality; he was suddenly filled with dread, afraid that the Third now regretted what had just happened. 

But as he finished washing his hands and turned around, he saw that the Third had dressed and was now looking directly at him. Silence filled the room for a few moments more before the Cardinal finally started, “So, what -- ”

“No. Don’t ask that question,” the Third interrupted, looking him in the eye. “Do not speak of this to anyone yet, least of all my father,” he said in a firm voice, one intended to threaten. “Do you understand?” 

The Cardinal could only stare blankly back at him. “Yes,” he said quietly.

“Good.” The Third blew out the candles on the wall, cloaking the room in sudden darkness. The Cardinal saw his figure move toward the door. “Now -- wait a few moments after I leave, then make your exit. Understand?” 

Slowly, the Cardinal began to realize what the Third’s endgame was. _Ever the secret-keeper._ “Yes,” he muttered, feeling the disappointment crash over him like a wave. 

“Perfect,” the Third said. 

And then he opened the door and darted out, and that was it. The Cardinal stood there in the darkness, fighting the feeling of despair that gnawed at him but clinging for dear life to that one little word the Third had said, a tiny word that offered him a big shred of hope: 

_Yet._


	3. mirum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here go y'all sauce. enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again for your kind comments and notes - warmed my heart, truly. the fact people care about this work is mind-blowing to me. 
> 
> this is the final of three - i'll be back in a few weeks with the next installment in this series. c:

_Yet_. 

The Cardinal had latched onto the word almost as soon as the Third - _Terzo_ \- said it, holding onto it tightly in the weeks that passed after that night in the sacristy. It became a glimmer of hope amidst the dark landscape of uncertainty that now defined his days, most of which he spent lying in wait for Terzo’s return. 

The morning after Mass - the morning after that night - Terzo had departed with Nihil and a handful of Ghouls for a three-week excursion to the Isles of Espen for a scheduled parlay with the reigning monarch there. The Cardinal had had no knowledge of this until Sister Imperator visited him later that day in his study and stood in front of his desk and said: “I don’t suppose that Papa informed you that you will lead the congregation in his absence throughout the coming weeks.” 

He had gazed up at her from behind the desk for a moment, fighting off the confusion that threatened to contort his expression as he responded, “No, he did not.” There had been a distinct sting of frustration as a feeling of exclusion came over him. Terzo, as was his wont, had neglected to mention anything about it, and the Cardinal had heaved a great sigh, casting his eyes down at the desk with the realization that the events of the previous night were now colored by a different light. “I shall begin preparing next week’s sermon at once.” 

After he had dismissed her, he walked over to the bay window, gazing outside and allowing himself to pull at the threads of the thought that nagged at him. Terzo had used him. It was simple, and the Cardinal felt shame as he realized that there was no other way to frame it. It _made sense_ for Terzo to solicit him for his own pleasure and then abandon him, rob him of a chance at getting an explanation out of him - and the Cardinal hated the way he yearned for an explanation, _hated_ feeling like nothing more than a shy schoolgirl every time he thought about it as the weeks came to pass. 

But still, he found himself craving more, like a flower that had just tasted its first rays of sunshine only to suffer through a series of rainy days. He was full of lust and despair, a unique and chaotic mix that drove him to the edge of desperation. He found himself reimagining those few minutes in the sacristy most nights when he lay in bed, shamelessly pleasuring himself to the memory - and in the aftermath of every climax, he anxiously wondered what would come of it. _Yet._ The word sunk its claws into him; it hung in front of him like a carrot in front of a horse, giving him a semblance of purpose - that glimmer of hope - and leaving him equipped with a vicious curiosity that begged to be quelled. _Do not speak of this to anyone yet._

The Cardinal found himself on a pendulum that swung endlessly between _he-loves-me_ and _he-loves-me-not_ , quashing the hope each time it welled up within him with the thought that Terzo would likely never approach him again. With each passing day that Terzo was gone, the Cardinal became more and more resolute that it was a fleeting moment, something to be forgotten about and never spoken of again. 

And so the third time it happened, it caught the Cardinal by surprise. 

It was very late when the sound of a heavy _thud_ caused him to jump awake and sit bolt upright in bed. Breathing heavily, he glanced around his chambers, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Nothing seemed out of order and, figuring the sound was merely something from a dream, he lay back against the pillows, pulled the blanket over his head, and heaved a great sigh, closing his eyes and hoping for sleep’s rapid return. 

But then it happened again, and this time the Cardinal was bewildered as he realized that the sound was a knock at his door. “Who’s there?” he called out in a cautious tone as he stood and reached for the robe hanging from one of the bedposts. When no answer came, he felt a pang of worry, concerned that something was amiss, and he quickly slid the robe on and cinched it at the waist just as another impatient knock rang out. 

When he opened the door, he was shocked to see Terzo standing there alone. 

He was fully dressed and in a fur coat, the collar and shoulders of which were covered with a dusting of what appeared to be fresh snowflakes. The Cardinal could only stare at him open-mouthed and wide-eyed, rendered entirely speechless in his surprise. Terzo had returned early; he had not expected to see him for another week - and yet, there he was, standing in the doorway and looking at him expectantly. He felt as if he had no choice other than to allow him inside, and he stepped aside. “What are you doing here?” he asked in a quiet voice.

Terzo waltzed into the room, shrugging the coat off of his shoulders and revealing the suit he wore underneath; the Cardinal watched some of the snow come loose from the furs and float to the floor, suddenly feeling self-conscious in his robe. Terzo lazily tossed the coat onto the bench at the foot of the Cardinal’s bed and strode deeper into the room, hands on his hips, glancing around as though surveying his living space. The Cardinal sensed an uncharacteristic nervousness in him, and he watched him carefully while trying to decide which question to ask him first.

Terzo turned around to look at him, then brought his hands inward, clasping them together. “I apologize for the disturbance, Cardinal,” he said, and the Cardinal felt his knees weaken at the sound of his voice, the feeling of his eyes on him. “I need to speak with you.” 

The Cardinal felt his breath catch in his throat. _Yet._ His resolve, the conclusion at which he’d only just arrived, began to crumble as the word made its way back into his mind. Perhaps this was the proverbial _Yet_ , the hour of reckoning, the event that would bring him the closure he had grown to need so desperately. In a flash, before he could stop it, a sliver of the memory of that night wedged into the forefront of his psyche, and for a split second, he was back on his knees before him, and Terzo was gasping his name. He clenched his teeth as his cock twitched. He stared at him now, the question on his lips, but all he could manage was: “At this hour?” Then, having found his voice, he glanced at the fur coat on the bench and asked, “Have you _just_ returned?” 

Terzo’s eyes fell to the coat for a moment as well. “Yes,” he said, his voice quieter and without some of its usual assurance. He gestured over his shoulder toward the hearth in the center of the room. “Can we start a fire? It was rather cold in the carriage.” 

The Cardinal stared at him for a moment, wondering how long he intended to keep him there. He wordlessly made his way over to the hearth, getting on his knees in front of the fireplace to spread kindling along its floor. As he worked, he heard Terzo’s footsteps move across the room, then the familiar clink of glassware and the pour of liquid. He was tossing a lit match into the fireplace when he heard Terzo approach him from behind, and the flames sparked to life as he turned around to accept a glass of whiskey from Terzo’s gloved, outstretched hand. 

“Thank you,” he said without thinking, bringing the glass up to his face to breathe in its spicy, woodsy aroma before taking a sip. 

Terzo dropped into one of the plush armchairs in front of the hearth, motioning to the Cardinal to do the same in the chair alongside him. The Cardinal obeyed, lowering himself slowly into the chair, making sure the robe kept him covered. He looked at Terzo, who was gazing into the fireplace, silently watching the flames build with a thousand-yard stare. When he finally spoke, he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and said, “The excursion to Espen did not go as planned.” 

The Cardinal’s heart sank, his hopes dashed with those few words. Averting his gaze, he cursed himself for his wishful thinking a moment ago, hating that he had fooled himself into believing that Terzo would even mention the sacristy. It did not come as a surprise: the foundation of all of Terzo’s relationships relied heavily upon what that person could _do_ for him. On that night, it was pleasure, but tonight… The Cardinal looked at him again, saw that there was something in his body language that admitted defeat, and he turned his words over in his mind again, wondering what occurred in Espen that drove Terzo to seek him out immediately upon his return. 

“What happened?” 

Terzo glanced over at the Cardinal, then back at the fire, the orange glow of the flames reflected in the glass as he took another sip. “My father ails me,” he began, his tone dripping with a kind of frustration that disquieted the Cardinal. “I failed to reach an agreement with the Espenian emperor. It is nothing - we’ll return in a few months and try again.” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Neither of my brothers before me could sway them, either. My father, you see, fails to bear that in mind, but still…” He stopped, took another sip of his whiskey. 

The Cardinal listened to him, dumbfounded. He had expected far worse than something so trivial as an airing of his personal grievances with Nihil, and he marveled at the man sitting across from him, the man who had excluded and ignored him and held him at arm’s length since he began ascending up the Clerical ranks - only to suddenly _use_ him in what was little more than a dark closet before disappearing for weeks, then return in the middle of the night to wake him from his slumber and discuss what ailed him. _The audacity_. The flames roared in the fireplace now. “Why discuss this with _me_?” he asked, swirling the liquid in his glass before taking another sip.

Terzo sat back in the chair and looked at him then. “Because,” he said in a simple, matter-of-fact tone, “you pose a great threat to me, Cardinal.” 

The Cardinal stared at him, silent. _A threat?_ He let his mind roam in search of something that would lend it credence, but he came up with nothing, and he opened his mouth to ask the question when Terzo spoke again. 

“Sister Imperator speaks endlessly of your accomplishments,” he drawled, tipping his head back to drain the remaining contents of his glass before standing and sauntering over to the bar cart. “You’re her favorite son,” he said in a bitter voice as he fetched the decanter and brought it back with him. 

The Cardinal watched, stunned into silence, as Terzo refilled his glass, the sound of the liquid as it was poured fading out to make room for the realization that flooded his conscience: that _his jealousy_ drove him to ostracize him. He looked down, suppressing a smirk at the surge of pride he felt as he considered the implications of Terzo’s words. _Accomplishments._ It was nice to hear, even if it came in this form, and he allowed himself a moment of victory before the sound of Terzo’s voice brought him out of it. 

“She threatens my position.” 

The Cardinal’s head shot back up, and he looked at him. “What?” 

“Oh, yes.” Terzo made a show of drinking his whiskey, then he locked onto the Cardinal’s eyes with an intense gaze. He spoke slowly: “She tells me _you_ are fit to take my place, that the Church need not worry in the event that… something were to _happen_.” 

The unspoken threat in Terzo’s words hung in the air between them in the silence that ensued. The Cardinal felt trapped, powerless, reduced to nothing - and now, under his intimidation, the idea that he might have come to him to discuss the night in the sacristy seemed entirely absurd. He felt small and vulnerable, and he began wishing for this to end. He sipped his whiskey again, allowing its sharpness to calm him, and he asked, “When did she tell you this?” 

Terzo crossed one leg over the other. “It’s been her favorite topic of discussion with me for months now,” he responded, taking a drink. “It enrages me, to be truthful with you.” His eyes shone with something dark as he regarded the Cardinal now.

The Cardinal looked down and swallowed hard, feeling the warmth of his face reddening under Terzo’s scrutiny. Fear threatened to take over him as he could not escape the feeling he had done something horribly wrong and was about to face punishment. But the whiskey was weaving its way into his bloodstream in force now, and he looked up at Terzo, saw him sitting in the chair opposite him, legs crossed, whiskey glass at his lips, and he was suddenly awestruck by his calculated poise. He stared at him, drank in his sublime aura of command, the way he was looked completely and totally _supreme_ in that moment, how secure he was in his control over him, and he felt his cock twitch with the rush of the memory of how he looked when he was on his knees before him. He didn’t know how to feel; he could not make sense of the dread coupled with the way he craved him so intensely, and despite the many burning questions under the surface, he could only manage one word in response, choked out in a raspy voice: “Sacristy.” 

Terzo looked at him. “Excuse me?” 

The Cardinal swallowed again, cleared his throat. “The sacristy,” he repeated, finding his voice. “I understand your purpose in coming here tonight. Rest assured, I do not intend to usurp you.” He glanced at him, then away. “But I do not understand your purpose in luring me to the sacristy, having me pleasure you only for you to disappear - then reappear in _these_ circumstances.” He rose and began walking to the bar cart to dispose of his glass, but he froze when Terzo suddenly stood up and moved to block his path.

“My power,” Terzo growled, his nose brushing against the Cardinal’s, “means more to me than you will ever know.” The Cardinal squeezed his eyes shut, his breathing picking up its pace. “When I saw how hard you were during Communion,” Terzo continued, “I made a guess. It turns out I was correct.” The Cardinal opened his eyes, saw the glazed look in Terzo’s, the familiar haze on his face, and he felt himself become hard fast as Terzo brought a hand up to cup his cheek. 

“It felt good enough when you showed up,” he went on, his thumb gently moving back and forth along the stubble on his cheek, “but it felt even _better_ for me to see you on your knees, in a position of degradation, and to take that power back, make you remember exactly who reigns supreme.” 

The Cardinal shuddered. 

“And afterward,” Terzo resumed, “the more I thought about it… the more I wanted it again.” He brought his thumb and forefinger down to lightly grasp the Cardinal’s chin, tilting his head upward so that he could move to his ear. “And the more I wanted it,” he breathed against his neck, “the more I desired to make you aware of the _cost_ at which you may have me.” 

“What cost is that?” 

“Submission.” 

The Cardinal’s breath hitched as Terzo’s hand dropped to his throat and squeezed; he locked eyes with him for a moment, and in the next instant Terzo was forcing his lips on him, trapping him in a feverish kiss. The Cardinal’s jaws strained against the force of his hand as he opened his mouth to accept his tongue. It was charged, shameless, somehow more unrestrained than the first time, and he could not stop himself from moaning into Terzo’s mouth and jutting his hips forward against his leg, a wordless and desperate plea for more. He felt Terzo smile against him before pulling away. 

“Patience, _Caro_ ,” he said in a soft voice, wagging a finger back and forth, but when the Cardinal groaned in protest, the smirk disappeared, and his expression changed into something that hinged upon wrath. His hand shot back up to grab him roughly by the chin. “Remember what I told you before,” he growled, and the Cardinal’s heart began pounding in his chest as he watched him shrug off his blazer, the realization that this was happening crashing over him like a wave and sending ripples of desire through his gut. 

And then Terzo’s hands were on his shoulders, turning him around and pushing him down to the floor, his knees buckling under the weight of the absolute failure to resist him. With a small cry, his bare hands smacked against the stone floor when he landed just as the fire in the hearth next to him began crackling with rage. The flames licked dangerously close to his face, and he glanced over his shoulder at Terzo to watch him reach into his pocket and retrieve a small glass vial covered with an ornate gold trim. 

Terzo removed one of his gloves, then uncapped the vial and turned it over, dispensed some of its contents onto two of his fingers; he capped it and tossed it onto the chair behind him, then lifted the robe up and over the Cardinal’s hips, piling it halfway up his back. The Cardinal turned his head back forward, feeling his arousal throb against his stomach as anticipation seized him - and then he felt Terzo grab a fistful of his hair and yank backward just as the coolness of the gel hit him _there_ , and he gasped when his fingers slid into him, moaned as they started moving. 

“Terzo -- ”

“Quiet.” In an instant, Terzo let go of his hair and moved his hand around to his throat and squeezed, much harder this time than before; under the pressure, he emitted a strained groan, his vision graying quickly. As Terzo started working his fingers faster, the Cardinal’s eyes stung with tears; he wanted to beg, but he could only manage strangled moans; he wanted to touch himself, but he was powerless under his hold. The ache was sweet, and its taste was exquisite; he both relished in it and yearned for more - and when Terzo suddenly pulled away, it caught him entirely by surprise, and he gasped and coughed and began trying to catch his breath. 

Then the familiar _clink_ of a belt buckle rang in his ears, followed by the _pop_ of the vial’s cap, and his heart stuttered as his breath caught in his throat. Again he looked over his shoulder, eyes wide, and he watched as Terzo poured more of the liquid from the vial into the palm of his hand before stroking himself and gazing upon the Cardinal with half-lidded eyes. The carnal haze of his desire clouded his features, that same look with which the Cardinal had become entranced all those weeks ago in the ballroom after the Ritual, and he shuddered, letting his head drop back down when he felt Terzo’s gloved hand latch onto one of his hips, the golden claws sinking into his flesh as he pulled him closer and spoke:

“I’ve been thinking about this for weeks.”

And the Cardinal gasped, nails clawing at the stone floor as Terzo shifted the scales of power, and he blithely surrendered when he slid into him, moving his hips back to meet him, twitching as he reveled in the divine indulgence of it. He heard Terzo swear, and then it started, first as an uncertain, unsteady ebb and flow before rapidly evolving into something more desperate, more frenzied, and the Cardinal finally wrapped a hand around his own arousal, trembling under Terzo’s command. 

He lost all control. The sounds he made and the jerking movements of his body went entirely unchecked as he descended into the madness of his lust, abandoned shame, cracked open the safe that housed every secret thought or fantasy - and everything he had held onto for weeks, for _months_ , swam to the surface and took over him. In the throes of his ecstasy, the feeling of liberation washed over him, and his resolve to hold back dissolved. He succumbed quickly to the feeling that had been building low in the pit of his stomach, and he cried out as he came into his hand. Seconds later, he felt Terzo shudder as he moaned with the force of his own climax, and he lingered on top of the Cardinal for a few moments, both of their bodies quivering with lingering electricity. 

Terzo grunted when he finally withdrew, and the Cardinal collapsed onto the floor, breathing heavily, realizing only then that he was coated in sweat. He propped himself up on his elbow and looked at Terzo, who sat back against his ankles and looked back at him, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. Silence descended upon them, and the Cardinal cast his eyes down, the afterglow fading fast as he waited to hear how Terzo would excuse himself. 

“This is not the last time, _Caro_.” 

The Cardinal looked back up at him, surprised. Terzo had pulled his trousers back up and stood up to fetch one of the hand towels from the bar and toss it to the Cardinal, who reluctantly and awkwardly wrapped it around his hand before slowly rising from the floor and shuffling over to the washroom. “It’s not, is it?” he called to Terzo over his shoulder as he cast the towel into the bin and turned on the sink faucet. 

“No,” Terzo responded, and the Cardinal listened carefully to the sound of his footsteps meandering about the room as he washed his hands. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, taking note of his disheveled hair and the marks on his throat and grinning slightly as he allowed himself to feel a small sense of pride. He washed his face then, splashed the water onto his skin, reveling in the feeling of freshness as he rose from the sink and dried himself off. 

When he walked out of the washroom, Terzo was gone. The fur coat was no longer lying on the bench at the foot of his bed, and the fire was the only other remaining sign of life in the room. The Cardinal glanced around for a moment before resigning to the fact that Terzo had simply slipped out unnoticed - and he smiled, finding that he was, in spite of himself, stolid, resolute, feeling a different confidence in it now that it had come to pass, and he walked to the bar cart to pour himself another whiskey.

**Author's Note:**

> Endless thanks to my dear friend Eden, my muse, to whom I am indebted forever for putting up with me throughout the duration of my completion of this. Go check out their art - it's amazing. c: Twitter @edenismer / Tumblr @stephanjanicke


End file.
